


When the Moon (Is Round and Full)

by escritoireazul



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Christmas, F/F, Families of Choice, Slice of Life, Yuletide 2014, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosa Diaz absolutely does not somehow end up in a pack made up entirely of humans and one very grumpy werewolf. And even if she does, it certainly will not include her coworkers, ridiculous people with their stupid emotions, and their smiling faces, and their <em>needs</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Moon (Is Round and Full)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scintilla10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scintilla10/gifts).



Rosa Diaz absolutely does not somehow end up in a pack made up entirely of humans and one very grumpy werewolf. And even if she does, it certainly will not include her coworkers, ridiculous people with their stupid emotions, and their smiling faces, and their _needs_.

#

Rosa is not about to waste her time teaching someone an impossible skill (impossible for them – there’s not a damn thing impossible for her, and it’s not like human senses can really follow all the cues she uses in her cooking). And even if she did, it certainly would not involve teaming up with Gina to give weekly lessons to Amy.

The kitchen smells like fresh focaccia and a mix of honey and some sort of weird, fake flowers and – is that leather? It definitely smells like leather, or at least as close as something not leather can smell. Rosa didn’t even know candles came in leather. She only burns unscented, because everything else is way too strong.

(Sometimes, when she hasn’t gotten out to pack land in awhile, she’ll burn a woodsmoke scented candle, but it’s never really bonfire-y enough. Gina’s actually made it a goal to find one that Rosa says smells right.)

“Don’t worry,” Gina tells Amy. Gina’s sitting on the counter, legs dangling, big glass of wine in one hand. “I can totally teach you how to cook. Look at those loaves.” She gestures at two more loaves of bread on the far counter. “Best Italian bread you’ve ever had. I’m a master chef.”

“You’re a master liar.” Rosa refills her own wine.

Gina grins and raises her glass, unperturbed.

“I can’t make bread from scratch.” Amy frowns, and her expression is the cutest mix of determination and terror. “I can’t even make _toast_.”

“We’re not starting with bread,” Rosa says. Gina raises her eyebrows, but she’s still grinning. “I mean it.” The first five metaphors are all hunting related, fangs and fur, running free. She doesn’t share any of them. “Something easier.”

“Oh lord.” Gina rolls her eyes and hops off the counter. “Do I look like an idiot?” She barely takes a breath before she continues. “Shut your face, Diaz. We’re making spaghetti and meatballs. Pre-made noodles, homemade sauce. It’ll be easy.” She looks at Amy over the top of her wineglass. Rosa doesn’t have to look to know that Amy’s still pretty damn terrified, but she does anyway, because there’s never a bad time to look at a gorgeous woman. Gina hops off the counter, sets aside her wineglass, and takes Amy’s hands. “I promise. Easy.”

She doesn’t lie. Her instructions are easy. Amy still manages to overcook the noodles, turning the bottom layer crunchy, but that’s pretty much the worst of it, and they just leave that bit in the pot when they eat. There’s lots of wine. It’s – surprisingly nice.

Rosa and Amy walk out together, close enough their arms brush. They each have leftovers, and though she’s stuffed nearly full, her mouth waters at the scent of tomatoes and meat, garlic and cheese. Her stomach grumbles a little. She wants a good, long run through the trees. A nap in cool grass while the moon sets. Then up, padding barefoot through the farmhouse, and leftovers warmed in the oven.

She wouldn’t even mind Amy and Gina being there. She stumbles a little at the thought. It’s not much, just a bobble, but Amy touches her arm, helps her balance, and then doesn’t let go until they reach her car.

“Hey Rosa.” Amy’s voice is quiet, and there’s something in her tone, a hint of a lower timbre, that sends a delicious shiver down Rosa’s back. “Thanks for, you know…,” she trails off.

“Making sure you didn’t burn down Gina’s place?” Though there was kind of a close call with a burner and a dish towel, and, okay, no need to go into that again. Not yet. She’ll get great joy out of recounting it down at the station Monday.

Amy gives a little laugh, but she bites down on her lower lip. Rosa presses her fists against her hips and tilts her head, waiting. She wants to put her teeth on Amy, too, a nip here, a scrape there, not enough to break the skin, just that sharp sting. It hurts so good.

“For that,” Amy admits at last, “and for, you know, everything.”

“Yeah, sure.” Rosa shrugs.

“No, I mean it. This was fun.” Amy takes a deep breath. “Being with you is fun.” Before Rosa can respond, she rushes on. “No, don’t say anything, just … it is, ok, I know you’re all tough and surly and private, but you’re _fun_ , too.” She huffs out a laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, ruin your street cred.”

“Never say that again.” Rosa wants to preen, stretch a little, lean closer and savor the smell of her, wine and garlic and nervous sweat.

“Street cred,” Amy immediately repeats, laughing, then adds, words falling all over each other, “Can I kiss you?” Her cheeks go dark and she ducks her head a little, but she meets Rosa’s gaze, steady and true. 

Rosa nods, angles her body towards Amy, one hip jutted forward, and waits. Amy stands still another moment, eyeing her, and then eases closer. Her first step is tentative, but her hands are steady when she reaches for Rosa, putting one hand on Rosa’s shoulder. She cups Rosa’s cheek with her other hand, strokes her thumb lightly along Rosa’s jaw. 

Pretty much the only thing Rosa wants to do is press Amy against the side of the nearest building and kiss her until neither of them can think clearly, but she lets Amy set the pace. Amy’s movements are slow, but not hesitant; controlled, but not nervous. Amy’s breath flutters against Rosa’s cheek as she leans in. She presses her mouth against Rosa’s gently at first, then with more pressure. Her lips are slick with gloss; the drag of her tongue makes warmth pool deep in the base of Rosa’s stomach. 

They kiss until Rosa’s chest is tight. Amy finally drags her mouth away with one last, biting kiss, and she’s breathing hard. She clutches at Rosa’s shoulder, clinging to her coat, and that little proprietary moment is one of the sexiest moments Rosa’s had in awhile.

“I’ve been wanting that for awhile,” Amy admits, still breathless but grinning wide.

Rosa starts to respond, but her voice catches in her throat, and the sound she makes is more a growl than anything human. She has to stop, take a deep breath, try again. That makes Amy’s smile widen, and she wraps her arms around Rosa, smug as anything – sexy as hell.

They kiss again, and again, until the cold settles in on them. Rosa’s not ready to stop.

“We should go somewhere, get a drink,” Rosa says, mouth pressed against the corner of Amy’s jaw. She can feel the vibrations of Amy’s sigh, and has to kiss her one more time just for that.

#

Some days, Rosa struggles to remember why, exactly, she likes Peralta so damn much. Those days are surprisingly few and far between. He’s all white boy cockiness and childlike glee over adult stupidity, but she likes that about him most of the time. They’ve been friends longer than she’s ever kept talking to anyone not a werewolf.

But then there are days like today. Days when he tips back his head and howls. It’s all human, no beast. The skin on the back of her neck crawls. She’s about twenty hours away from the full moon, and the noise coming out of his throat makes her head throb, her fingers twitch. Her skin already feels too tight. It will peel away soon enough, but she feels overripe. She’ll split wide open at the lightest touch, fur beneath her skin, bloodstained and new.

Peralta howls again, tipping back his head so his neck is bared, stretched long and vulnerable. He’s halfway across the room, a line of desks between them. Her thighs tense, and she rests much of her weight on her hands where they press flat against the edge of her desk. She could leap up, launch herself, tear out his throat before he ever saw her coming.

He peeks at her mid-howl and breaks off into a laugh. “Geez, Diaz, the look on your face.” He’s the only one here who knows what she is. (The only one she’s certain knows. Captain looks at her sometimes, and she swears he can see every shift she’s ever had, the curl of wolf in her belly, each time she sniffs and smells _prey_.)

“What big eyes you have,” Peralta tells her as she stares at him. It’s probably the millionth time he’s made a Little Red Riding Hood joke, and it’s nowhere near one of his best, but still. Night is coming, and with it the full moon, and Rosa will run.

He’s not as funny as he thinks he is, but still, she grins. Her teeth are very sharp.

#

“My world is collapsing.” Gina flops dramatically against the edge of Amy’s desk. “Plates are breaking beneath my very feet.”

Rosa takes a long drink of coffee hot enough it scalds her tongue. The healing kicks in pretty much immediately, but there’s still that perfect moment of burn. 

Amy pushes her chair back a little and smiles up at Gina. “Plates?” she asks. “Did you let Boyle rearrange your kitchen again?”

“Oh, no, he is not allowed in my kitchen anymore.” Gina grimaces. “He used it for one of his food blogs. I couldn’t find my favorite tea mug for, like, forty-eight hours. It was horrible.”

Gina’s current favorite tea mug, at least the one for home, is surprisingly simple. It is white, and there’s a silhouette of a wolf, head back in a howl, gray mountains foggy in the distance. Rosa gave it to her last year for Christmas. A few weeks before that, Gina started using Wolfie again.

Thirteen days before that, there was a full moon, and a wolf accident, and Rosa woke up on Gina’s couch, Amy very carefully not watching her closely, Gina avidly staring, and Jake sprawled on the floor, snoring.

“Angry unicorns are boring,” Gina said later. “I’m all about the wolves again. I watched fourteen werewolf movies last night.” Rosa scowled. “Ok, not really, but I did watch a bunch of transformation scenes on YouTube. Which one is closest? Ginger Snaps? Dog Soldiers? Teen Wolf? Not the tv show, the movie. Michael J. Fox was such a cutie, right?”

And that was that.

Rosa spends a lot of time ignoring wolf jokes now. Jake still howls and talks about being a lone wolf. Terry keeps asking questions about how much stronger she is than humans and marveling over the amount of food she puts away. She doesn’t have to hide anymore. She can eat a lot. A hell of a lot. Terry is impressed. Terry’s _kids_ are impressed, though she’s pretty sure they don’t know what she is. Maybe they do. Kids can believe the wildest things. Jolly fat men coming down the chimney. A creepy elf watching everything they do.

Captain hasn’t said much, but then, she didn’t expect him to. She’s a good cop, no matter what else she is inside. That’s what matters to him.

Scully and Hitchcock keep bringing her gift baskets full of meats. That’s actually not terrible, especially when Boyle starts to bring in cheeses and breads. He can put together things in the break room she couldn’t do even in a fully stocked culinary miracle kitchen.

It’s not exactly how she would have told them. (She wouldn’t have, let’s be real.) But it’s not terrible, either.

“Rosa!” Gina wails. “You’re not listening.”

“True,” Rosa says, and takes another drink. Gina doesn’t handle silence well. She’ll repeat herself.

Sure enough, “Dance with me!” Gina pushes away from Amy’s desk and strikes a pose. “I need a backup dancer for my Christmas piece.”

Even as she argues – “I don’t backup dance.” “Sure you can, it’s easy, just make me look even more awesome than usual.” “Shut your face.” followed by “I quit ballet.” Gina grins wide. “Because you’re a biter, but that’s ok with me.” – Rosa knows she’ll end up helping. Because that’s a thing you do for your pack.

Gross. Feelings. She really needs to set something on fire soon.

Amy designs collage backdrops, and Terry adds in his art. Scully and Hitchcock work the lights. They’re pretty damn creative when it comes to the color gels, too. That’s a surprise. Captain and Gina dance together, Peralta and Rosa as backup, Rosa with perfect pirouettes, and Gina takes home a big trophy.

“Look at my treasure, bitches,” she says, dragging out the words and hoisting it high. Amy rolls her eyes, muttering about misogynistic language, and leans into Rosa. Rosa downs another beer.

#

Rosa has to park down the street from Terry’s house, and she’s swamped with the smell of gingerbread and candy canes the second she opens the car door. That sweetness layers over crushed pine needles, gasoline, garbage in the distance, and the musky floral mix of Amy’s perfume.

“Rosa!” Cagney barrels into Rosa’s legs, wrapping her arms around them and holding tight. Not to be outdone, Lacey follows, shoving at her sister until she, too, can hug Rosa. It’s a good thing everyone here knows her, because there’s no way she can hide the curl of her lip off her teeth. She likes the twins, it’s just, they’re really touchy and clingy and that’s not really Rosa’s thing at all.

Amy beams at her, raises a glass in silent toast.

“Girls, you know the rules.” Terry brings Rosa a big glass of beer. “No climbing on guests.”

“We’re not climbing,” they chime together, which is simultaneously adorable and terrifying. “We’re hugging. Hugs are good.”

“Yes, yes, hugs are good,” Terry agrees, just the slightest rumble of laughter to his voice. “But maybe they should wait until after Rosa is all the way inside and takes off her jacket, right girls?”

They tilt their heads, gazing up at Rosa as they consider that, eyes bright, teeth bared in smiles that are excellent approximation of wolf cub snarls. For a horrible moment, Rosa wants to pinch their little cheeks and take them out to howl under the crescent moon.

Then, with a myriad of giggles, the girls let go and bolt off into another part of the house.

“Sorry about that,” Terry says, taking her coat and handing her a drink. “They’re so excited about tonight.”

He starts to reach for her, then stops, because it’s Rosa. She gulps some beer, which tastes good even though it’s hard for her to get drunk, and bumps up against his side, lets him put his arm across her shoulders.

#

Amy’s lips smell like mulled wine and the too-sweet icing from sugar cookies. Amy tilts into her, bringing their bodies close, and Rosa nuzzles her cheek, the side of her neck. She’s messing up Amy’s careful updo, tangling her fingers in it, but Rosa likes her better mussed, and from the little noise Amy makes, she doesn’t care.

Rosa only allows a touch of teeth when she closes her mouth on the curve of Amy’s shoulder. Amy grabs the bottom of Rosa’s leather jacket with both hand, pulling down hard, and Rosa’s grin is wide and sharp when she pulls back. Her breath steams white in the cold air. Amy’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright.

“Merry Christmas,” Amy tells her, voice light and warm, and tugs on her jacket again. “Now kiss me.”

“I don’t like bossy women,” Rosa says, but she can’t stop smiling.

“Liar.” Amy raises up, brushes a kiss against the corner of Rosa’s mouth. Rosa wraps her arms around Amy, slipping her hands down to cup her ass, tight jeans, the slight sparkle in the fabric scratching at her fingertips. Oh, the things she’s going to do when they get back to Amy’s place.

Amy smells like perfume and holiday treats and like Rosa herself, and she’s not gonna say it out loud or anything, but it’s kind of the best scent she can imagine.

#

Rosa wakes sprawled in the middle of the woods on the farm, naked and satiated and relaxed. She stretches, one limb after another, slipping from wolf to woman, points her toes, curls her fingers through her hair. She’s alone out here in the cold winter air, ground frozen solid beneath her, but everyone else is back at the house. She can already smell woodsmoke and bacon.

Pale dawn light filters through the trees. Slowly, she rises and turns toward home.


End file.
